


Birds Appearing in a Dream

by blancwene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancwene/pseuds/blancwene
Summary: The Steward's family dreams.





	1. Crows

Boromir dreams of black shapes on the horizon, flying down southwards towards the city. 

“Ravens?” he wonders. “What news do they bear from the Northlands?”

But the shapes draw nearer, and his heart fills with dread. Not ravens. _Crebain_.

They circle overhead, around and around, a huge flock of carrion crows. “Death,” they cry, “death.”

“For whom?” he asks.

“Death,” they repeat. “Death. Death.”

Suddenly, they swoop down towards him, and he flattens himself against the wall. “Death,” they laugh, “death for the son of Gondor!”

He wakes in his father’s house, to silence.


	2. Gulls

Most nights, Finduilas dreams of home. Of the castle in Dol Amroth, with its familiar chambers and passages. Of the gardens, and the beach beyond, with its smooth rocks, white sands, and clear waters of the bay. And of the Seaward Tower, tall and bright, a beacon for sailors and townspeople alike.

In her dreams she climbs the stairs to the highest chamber, leaning out towards the sea with the great bronze bell at her back. She looks westwards towards Westernesse that was and Elvenhome that is, as the gulls wheel about and above and below her.

For a few hours, she is at peace.

But eventually, inevitably, she wakes in her bed in the Steward’s House. Surrounded by white walls—of the house, of the levels, of the city itself—oppressive, heavy walls to guard against the looming Shadow of Mordor in the East. She wakes to a world of stone, but not, for once, to silence.

She hears the harsh wailing cry of a gull, and running to the window, sees a small pale shape circling overhead. It swoops above her, once, twice, thrice, then heads eastwards and downwards towards the lower city. It passes out of her sight, but she follows it in her memory: past the city gates, across the fields and farmhouses of the Pelennor Fields to the Rammas Echor and the Causeway Forts. And from there to the Great River, wide and swiftly moving, making its steady, inevitable path towards the sea.


	3. Swans

For once, Faramir does not dream of Númenor. He stands at the water’s edge, disoriented, surrounded by fog and darkness. Then his vision clears, and he recognizes the shore of the Anduin near Osgiliath, scant hours since his brother’s body floated past in waking or in sleep. He steps further into the water, the current lapping against his calves.

Suddenly he feels the beat of great wings at his back, and turns to see swans—one, three, five, seven swans—wheel in great rings in the night sky above. He hears the clamor of their huge wings as they arc and turn towards the north. And he moves back towards the riverbank and chases their white shapes above the horizon.

He follows them, swifter than the wind, up the Anduin through North Ithilien. At Cair Andros three veer west into Anórien and three continue north towards the Dead Marshes. But one turns off at a tributary stream, and Faramir runs after it into the trees.

He trails it upstream until he halts abruptly, recognizing where he stands. Before him lies an oval-shaped pool, with a waterfall tumbling from the cliffs above it.

“Henneth Annûn,” he says softly. “Am I called here?”

The swan drifts on the still pool and does not reply.

* * *

In the morning, he rides back into the City to see his father.

“I must return to Henneth Annûn to prepare for the raid in North Ithilien. I sense I will be needed there, in the days to come.”


	4. Eagles

In his dreams, Denethor re-covers the Anor-stone in the White Tower’s highest chamber. He climbs down the stairs, walks through the Tower Hall, and out into the Court of the Fountain and past the withered tree.

He stops before the walls of the city and looks eastward. The sky is dark, yet strange lights flash and flicker past the Ephel Dúath. The world feels perched on the edge of a major change, paused on the abyss between catastrophe and salvation.

The world holds its breath.

Then the darkness recedes, and the light returns. He sees a great bird shape approaching on the wind, as men on the walls shout and cheer. 

“The eagles are coming! The Shadow has departed!”

“No,” Denethor says, turning his back. “Not for me.”


End file.
